


Nail Polish and Princes

by journalanxiety



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: AND IT'S CUTE, Angst, Disney, Disney Movies, Fluff, Mild Angst, Nail Polish, Roman helps Virgil paint his nails, and they talk, but this is the start of their relationship either way, but we dont go like super detailed with it, either one works, it's the start of their friendship, its just some self derogatory comments, painting nails, they talk about disney princes and stuff, virgil kind of hates himself, you could also interpret this as preromantic prinxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 05:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16079201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/journalanxiety/pseuds/journalanxiety
Summary: His edgy exterior is no longer as necessary, but he’s reluctant to entirely part with it. Virgil shifts from all blacks and grays and includes purples in his wardrobe. He begins experimenting more with his makeup, trying out different glittery powders in sunset purples and sparkling silvers. For the first time in a long time, Virgil can just breathe.The only part that remains truly unchanged is his nails.based off of a headcanon I wrote about Virgil and him painting his nails! The link to that post will be in the notes at the end. Basically, Virgil paints his nails, but his anxiety causes his hands to shake. This means his nails never look super clean or perfect, so he asks Roman for some help. Cute prinxiety bonding time ensues.





	Nail Polish and Princes

**Author's Note:**

> Just something cute and sort of quick to keep my writing flowing so it doesn't become stagnant and settle in a writer's block!

Virgil has always had a specific aesthetic. Dark, brooding, intimidating- it’s always worked for him. It fits the persona he lives each and every day, the facade he puts up so that the others take him and his suggestions seriously. He had to. They didn’t listen to him, they didn’t _care_ that he was scared and upset, they didn’t care for _so long_. So he changed, he adapted. Instead of pleading with tears in his eyes for someone, _anyone_ , to listen to him, Virgil learned to stand tall, face as unmoving and cold as stone, his eyes as piercing and as frigid as a winter blizzard. Virgil adapted to ensure that the others couldn’t ignore him anymore, and if them finally paying attention to him and his words meant that they were cowering in fear and distrust, then so be it. 

But things change. They changed.

He no longer has to fight for his voice to be heard, no longer has to strike the fear that he feels in his own heart into the others’. They ask for his opinion and help quell his fears and worries without dismissing them. Logan no longer tells him he’s being illogical or irrational, shooing him away with a wave of his hand. Patton no longer sends him those condescending smiles or tries to appease him with empty words. Roman no longer challenges his every statement and action, and he no longer views Virgil’s very existence as a crime against humanity. No, the three of them, while not perfect- because Virgil can be very difficult to understand and read at times and he isn’t ready to open up completely- are trying their best to improve and be better and that’s all Virgil can really ask for. It’s more than he ever expected to receive, anyway. 

His edgy exterior is no longer as necessary, but he’s reluctant to entirely part with it. Virgil shifts from all blacks and grays and includes purples in his wardrobe. He begins experimenting more with his makeup, trying out different glittery powders in sunset purples and sparkling silvers. For the first time in a long time, Virgil can just _breathe_. 

The only part that remains truly unchanged is his nails. 

For all that his anxiety and stress have improved, it hasn’t stopped plaguing him completely. Virgil doubts it will ever entirely leave, considering who he is. The most noticeable symptom of its continued presence is his shaking hands. He’s surprised the others haven’t noticed yet; after all, the tremors are the reason he sometimes still refuses to eat at the kitchen table with them. Sometimes his hands are just too jittery and it makes holding things, like forks and knives and spoons, rather difficult. This extends to when he’s applying his nail polish. No matter how much focus Virgil exerts while applying the fresh coat to his nails, the hand holding the brush cannot remain steady enough for a clean brushstroke. It doesn’t help that the hand he’s painting is shaking too. His nails are always messy, the black polish spilling onto the cuticles and skin surrounding his nails. 

Before, this hadn’t been much of a problem; with Virgil’s chaotic aesthetic, the nails fit right in. But he doesn’t have to be a dark and stormy individual anymore for his voice to be heard. He can just be Virgil. And, while the Virgil aesthetic doesn’t differ from the Anxiety aesthetic by that much, it’s a noticeable difference to Virgil. And the messy nails are the one thing above all else that he wishes he could leave behind with those painful times. Now, more than ever, Virgil just wishes he could have clean, beautiful nails. 

Nails like Roman’s. Roman has a new coat of nail polish every week. He must spend hours developing the different patterns and themes that he parades each Saturday morning; and the number of colors, and shades of each color, that Roman has is no laughing matter. Virgil can’t help but admire the creative side’s glittering and shining nails as he gestures animatedly while speaking. He’s quick to look away when Roman notices he’s watching, of course; Roman, for all that he has improved dramatically from how he previously treated Virgil, is still uncertain of how to interact with Virgil. Virgil doesn’t _actually_ like upsetting Roman, and he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable with his staring. So Virgil looks away quickly and never says anything. He wishes a great many things, but he never breathes a word of his wishes. They aren’t important anyway.

  


Except they are, despite how much Virgil would like to ignore and forget them. The things that Virgil wants and desires whisper in his heart as he lies on his back at night. They push at his ribcage when he sits with Patton, talking about trivial things that aren’t important but _are_ in their own way. They claw at his throat as he discusses problems with Logan as they try to plan out Thomas’s week, something that helps put them both at ease. They fill his mouth, trying to escape with each word as he debates with Roman, both more teasing than actually jibing at each other. No, Virgil’s wishes are the opposite of quiet and enjoy making Virgil’s life as difficult as possible. 

One of the easier wishes to handle is his nails. Well, easy in concept, difficult in execution. Virgil has been standing in front of Roman’s door for ten minutes now, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It’s easy in theory, to raise one’s hand and bring it down against the door- knock, knock- but Virgil throat is tight and too hot and so instead he just stares. Because this is such a _stupid_ idea, why would Roman ever agree to this? Virgil groans, leaning forward to rest his head against the door with a soft _thump_. It shouldn’t be this difficult, but for Virgil it is and he hates every minute of it. Besides, even if Roman agreed, what would they-

The door swings open suddenly, leaving Virgil to collapse on the floor in a shrieking heap. There’s muffled laughter from above, and Virgil can’t help but glare up at the pajama-clad side standing before him. 

“What were you doing?” Roman asks after a minute. His words are warm with amusement, but Virgil can sense the hesitance there. 

Virgil sits upright with a huffy sigh, trying not to pout as he hides his nail polish from view. He can’t do this. “Nothing, I just-” 

“Okay, sure. Why were you leaning on my door or whatever you were doing?” Roman persists. 

Ducking his head, Virgil mumbles out his response, adding in a few apologies here and there for good measure. He gets up, pulling his blanket closer because he wants to hide from the world, from _Roman_ , and-

A hand reaches out, gripping Virgil’s shoulder with a gentle yet firm grip, not hurting him but forcing him to stop walking away. “Woah, we aren’t done here, Storm Cloud. Now, what do you want?” Roman’s voice is friendly, welcoming. Virgil wonders if it’s because he’s tired. It _is_ rather late on a Friday night, who knows what the creative side is usually up to at this time. 

After a couple minutes of remaining stubbornly quiet, Virgil gives in, seeing as Roman can be just as stubborn as he himself. Virgil turns to face Roman again, ducking his head so he can stare at his fuzzy purple socks and the cheerful little bees printed across them- a gift from Patton. “I… I was hoping you could help me paint my nails.” Virgil mumbles, tugging the blanket even closer. _Ideally_ , Virgil thinks, _the blanket would strangle him and he could quit this awkward situation._

Roman is silent for a minute, and Virgil can feel his stare hot on his face. Virgil tries not to let his cheeks burn under the scrutiny, but he isn’t entirely successful. “Why?” Roman finally says. He must see something break in Virgil’s expression, because he hurries to continue, words rushed, “I’m not saying no! I’m just confused because you already paint your nails, so…” He trails off, unsure of how to finish or where to take the sentence. 

Virgil’s hands clench, the blanket bunching under his fingers as his knuckles turn white. His breath stutters in his chest, leaving Virgil desperate for air, and tears prick at his eyes. He would rather just leave than explain everything to Roman. 

The hand on his shoulder squeezes him reassuringly, the grip warm and grounding. “Hey, there’s no need to get worked up. I’m not upset with you or anything, I just want to understand.” His voice, always melodious and tender, is comforting as Roman coaxes Virgil into his arms. Virgil sighs against him, happy to be able to hide his face, if only for a couple minutes. One of Roman’s hands rubs soothingly at his back, the other cards up and into Virgil’s curls. 

After a couple minutes, Roman pulls back, holding Virgil at arms length. His eyes shine with concern, and Virgil can feel his resolve breaking. Frowning a little, Virgil explains in a quiet voice, “I wanted to ask you if you would paint my nails, or at least help me paint them, because I can’t do them myself. My anxiety has improved lately, but it still makes my hands shake and it’s impossible for me to paint them myself and have them be clean and pretty and yours always look so nice so I thought that maybe you could help me do them. I know, it’s stupid and I’m stupid and I shouldn’t have even tried to ask-” Virgil begins rambling, his stress worsening with every passing second. 

But then Roman is interrupting him, hands waving, effectively cutting him off and catching his attention. “Woah, okay, you’re rambling and you need to calm down again,” Roman pulls Virgil into his room, guiding him to a ruby-red upholstered chair. He frets and flutters around for a minute, unsure of how to comfort Virgil. Virgil can appreciate his effort, though. “Okay. So let me get this straight- _ha_. Your anxiety makes your hands shake?”

“Yes.” 

“To the point that you can’t paint your nails- well, you can, but not very well.” 

“Yup,” Virgil pops, arms wrapping around himself. 

“And you want me to help you paint them?” 

A nod. 

Roman’s face lights up with a brilliant grin, “Because you think that my nails are pretty.” Virgil can feel his cheeks heat up again as Roman laughs. His laughter isn’t malicious, though, so Virgil tries not to let it bug him too much. “Well, what are we waiting for? These nails won’t paint themselves!” 

As Roman practically skips over to his vanity, Virgil’s eyes widen, his voice incredulous, “Wait, are you serious? You- you actually want to do this?” 

Throwing a gleeful grin over his shoulder, Roman responds, “Uh, yeah, _duh_. Why wouldn’t I? This is going to be great.” 

And oh. Virgil’s world breathes a sigh of relief. Roman pulls a large box from underneath the vanity before returning to Virgil’s side. He takes a couple minutes to collect a couple towels and pillows, turning on some Disney music with a snap of his fingers. Once Roman has everything that he apparently needs to paint nails- a lot of which Virgil thinks is unnecessary, at least in his experience, but then again, Roman is better at this than he is- he pulls Virgil from the chair to sit with him on the floor. 

Roman opens the box, several compartments opening in a dramatic gesture, revealing at least a hundred different nail polish bottles. “These are my favorites,” Roman says, a little bashful but no less excited, “Now, I’m going to assume you would prefer something to match your usual angst-fest, correct?” 

Virgil scowls, pouting slightly, “I am _not_ a usual angst-fest.”

Caramel eyes alight with mischief, Roman quirks a brow, “Oh, my apologies. Your usual raining parade.” 

“That wasn’t even clever, Roman.”

“Answer the question, Doom and Gloom.”

Rolling his eyes, Virgil groans, “I don’t know. Work with black, purple, or silver.”

Roman nods sagely, looking all too serious for something as mundane as painting nails. “I can work with that.” 

And so Roman begins sorting through the various polishes. He pulls out one after another, and while Virgil doesn’t agree with some of the colors he decides not to ask. _Maybe they’re for Roman?_ Virgil tries not to fidget, but he’s beginning to remember why he was so hesitant to knock on the door, let alone have Roman actually do this. Out of the three other sides, Roman is the one with whom Virgil has the least developed friendship. Patton is an easy friend; he’s easy to talk to, easy to spend time with, easy to laugh with, he’s just… wonderful in every way. And Logan is a fellow left-brainer; he and Virgil can easily talk through problems and have friendly debates that never get too out of hand because of their mutual respect for each other. But Roman? They don’t have a happy history, and while they are both trying to make amends, it’s quite a task. A lot of it stems from Virgil’s fear; his fear of upsetting Roman, of making Roman hate him again, his fear of rejection- the list goes on and on. It’s not that Virgil doesn’t want to be close with Roman, but he doesn’t know where to start. 

Roman eyes glance to where Virgil’s hands fidget with the edge of the blanket. His lips press together, his expression looking a little displeased, and Virgil’s heart sinks. _Roman must be having second thoughts, he’s probably regretting inviting you in, you **stupid** \- _

“So who’s your favorite Disney prince?” The question catches Virgil off guard, abruptly halting his spiraling thoughts. 

“What?” 

Roman smiles. It’s an unfamiliar smile to Virgil. This smile is unlike the usual confident and cocky smiles and grins that Roman shares enthusiastically while talking. Those are like a hot summer’s day; they demand attention and can’t be ignored with their blistering heat that is either blessing you with it’s golden touch or is roasting you like a lobster. But this smile. Virgil thinks that this smile is more like an autumn day. It’s as vibrant as the fiery leaves that gently waft down from the trees. It caresses you like the breezes, neither warm nor cold, but comforting and playful nonetheless. It warms Virgil like a rich hot chocolate, spreading from his very core to the tips of his fingers, as though he’s actually holding the steaming mug. Indeed, this smile is something entirely different. Virgil decides that he quite likes it. 

“Who’s your favorite Disney prince, and,” Roman asks again, voice light and his eyes warmer than any mug of hot chocolate, “You have to go in depth and explain! No chickening out, we only accept serious answers in this good Disney-loving household.” 

Virgil watches Roman for a minute before laughing. “Okay, um… Well, that’s kind of an obvious answer? Prince Phillip.” Roman hums, a smile teasing at his lips, but he gestures for Virgil to continue as he grabs one of Virgil’s hands. “He’s the only good prince? Like, the others are _okay_ but they all have their flaws. Aladdin was after the riches, and okay, _maybe_ he fell in love with Jasmine somewhere along the way, but he originally didn’t have a single care for her. He just wanted her money and power. Prince Charming couldn’t remember the face of a girl he danced all evening with, not to mention that he apparently didn’t even ask for her _name_? What a douche canoe. Don’t even get me _started_ on Snow White’s prince-” And so began the twenty minute long rant covering all the flaws of the various princes in great length and detail. Eventually Roman cuts in, laughing as he works. 

“Okay, okay, I get it. All the princes suck, I got the memo. In fact, everyone sucks. But what makes Phillip good?” 

Virgil pauses, watching Roman carefully apply a pattern sticker to his finger. “Well,” He begins, a bit uncertain, “He was the only one that genuinely seemed to care about his princess, you know? Phillip actually spent a day with Aurora, he actually got to know her before deciding he wanted to pursue her. And then, when his dad said he couldn’t just marry some random girl, Phillip said he was going to, regardless of what his father had to say, because he was in love. He didn’t care that she didn’t have rank or reputation, that wasn’t important to him. And then, when Aurora gets kidnapped by Maleficent, he was ready to fight a dragon and climb a cliff and fight goblin things? I will criticise him on the fact that he kissed Aurora without consent, but… overall, he was a good person who just wanted to save the girl he loved.” 

Roman glances up at Virgil, his eyes bright with curiosity, “I knew you were passionate about Disney, but I didn’t know you were actually ready to defend one of the characters like that, hot _damn_.” 

Virgil blushes under the scrutiny, resolutely staring at where Roman has Virgil’s hand held securely in his grasp. “Well, you’re bound to get attached to at least one character from your childhood. I just… he’s perfect, you know?” 

As much as Virgil expects him to, Roman doesn’t begin teasing him. Instead, he nods and returns to painting Virgil’s fingernails. “Well, I’m glad we can agree on who the best prince is.” 

“He’s your favorite too?” 

“But of course! Who do you think inspired my outfit? When I saw him, I couldn’t help but want to be just like him. So, I adopted the costume and set out to become a prince of my own, though I knew I could never be as good as him.” 

Virgil looks away, mumbling, “I don’t know, I think you make a pretty good prince.” Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil can see Roman’s head whip up as he stares at Virgil. He tries to fight the blush that threatens to stain his cheeks. He’s unsuccessful. 

But Roman doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he remains focused on Virgil’s nails, continuing with painting the delicate patterns before finishing them off with a clear finish. The conversation continues to flow smoothly as Roman begins painting his own nails, leaving Virgil’s to dry. Virgil is surprised when Roman insists that their nails must be a matching wine-purple with shimmering silver designs on top, _“To mark the beginning of a tradition!”_ according to Roman. He shakes his head in amusement, but Virgil doesn’t argue with him. He had argued against the shade of purple originally- it was a little more red than what he preferred, but Roman insists that it’s a wonderful blend between Virgil’s purples and Roman’s reds. Looking at his nails now, Virgil thinks that it _is_ a rather pretty color.

If Virgil mumbles a quick and sweet _thank you_ and _goodnight_ , Princey, darting forward to squeeze the creative side in a tight hug before retreating to his own room for the night, well, that’s for Roman to know. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, please leave a kudos and a comment! You don't need to write a paragraph, a keysmash can make my day ❤
> 
> You can check out more sanders sides headcanons on my side blog: journalanxiety.tumblr.com
> 
> the link to this specific headcanon that inspired this fic: http://journalanxiety.tumblr.com/post/177035949789/hey-so-virgil-totally-wears-nail-polish-right


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